


Intensity

by darkthoughts_curiousplots



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Vaguely mentioned Four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkthoughts_curiousplots/pseuds/darkthoughts_curiousplots
Summary: “Good luck, Stiff. This’ll be over quickly.” He throws snarkily over his shoulder as he leaves, seemingly an afterthought.She waits until he’s out of ear shot before smiling, “I’m already winning, Eric.”





	Intensity

**Author's Note:**

> With Jai Courtney as Eric, because hot damn, the movie dun gud.
> 
> Thanks to my darling, Momokai for editing. And for dragging me into this hell with her.

Their relationship isn’t what anyone might call conventional. Nothing about  _ him _ is, to be fair. They barely seem to talk due to how rarely they cross paths as far as anyone else is concerned, and if it wasn’t common knowledge that they’d been in the same Initiation class and had held, at least on his behalf- a rather fierce rivalry, most would think they have no knowledge of each other at all.    
  
All the same, no one would expect them to be together, not like this. With limbs entwined and dripping sweat, panting into each other’s flesh in an attempt to keep their encounter quiet and between them. Normally discretion wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t bother to be quiet, except that they’ve done something adventurous and decidedly stupid this time.   
  
If her brother finds them... well.

  
She’s dragged out of her head by him hissing in her ear, “Am I not keeping your attention, Stiff? Something more important to think about?” If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he didn’t care beyond the blow to his ego. But she does know him better, probably better than he’d like- better than would make him comfortable if he knew.   
  
There’s not an opportunity to respond to his sharp words before he’s up, leaving her empty and aching for more of him. Seconds later he’s dragging her up from the ground with his grip in her long hair, dirt and gravel clinging to her skin before he shoves her around. He uses that same grip to guide her back against his chest, the top of her head barely level with his collarbones.    
  
He’s a control freak and a perfectionist in every way. He can’t stand to sit by and take direction and especially not when he could do a better job giving the instructions. It’s one of the reasons he’s Dauntless leadership. It’s also why he enjoys their height difference. Her short stature and the deceptive advantage it gives him over her is a draw for him, she knows. She also knows she could take him down, at least briefly, if necessary.   
  
The hand coiled in her dark hair slides down and around to press against her throat instead. His hand spans the entire length of her throat from her chin to the dip between her clavicle and his grip is firm but not too tight. She clenches her jaw to keep from making a noise and knows he feels it, along with the vibration in her throat from her muffled sound- though whether it was a moan or a whine, even she isn’t sure. He’s smug regardless, his chest rumbling against her back as he uses that same grip to lead her backwards, deeper into the darkness of night.   
  
She almost protests that he’s walking her away from their clothes and gear, but his other hand slides around her hip, his fingers gliding down from her navel to tease between her legs and cup her core. He brushes his rough fingertips over her puffy, abused flesh and that rumble returns. He enjoys seeing and feeling the results of his labors, and she’s sure the heave of her chest is something he’s also watching with great interest over her shoulder.   
  
As she thinks it, his hand leaves her throat briefly to pull all of her hair forward across her right shoulder, out of the way. Her head twitches to the side as though she’s going to look up at him, which she was, until his fingers tug firmly at a pierced nipple, twisting slightly in time with the soft tutting noise from above her head. Her breath hitches momentarily, but she doesn’t try to look after that.   
  
His fingers don’t leave, taking their time to pull and pinch at one of the piercings he likes so much before tracing along a delicate line of tattoos to reach the other peak, palm completely covering soft flesh and squeezing.   
  
The hand cupped between her legs finally does more than tease as he reaches and sinks two thick fingers deep into her without delay, curling them to press against her walls and starting up a sharp rhythm. The sound of his fingers working her wet hole sparks a moment of learned shame at the reactions of her selfish body before she kicks it away, mentally throwing the thought off a cliff and not bothering to watch it shatter at the bottom. She’s too busy arching and rocking into his ministrations, listening to him growl as he paws at her greedily.   
  
Two becomes three and he spreads her open around them, not nearly as thick as the hard length pressing insistent at the small of her back, but they curl satisfyingly into the spongy center of nerves inside and her hips jerk into them all the same. Her head drops back against his chest, throat arching and he can’t seem to resist the invitation. His hand curls back around her neck, and he leans over her in response to her open mouth to issue a warning.   
  
“Not a sound or I stop.”   
  
His tone is no less harsh than usual, but she can hear both the conviction in his voice and the trace of reluctance at the thought. Stopping is not on her agenda so she clamps her jaw shut and huffs air sharply out her nose instead.   
  
He gives her a pleased hum, biting at the shell of her ear before pulling his fingers free. She closes her eyes to stop her protest before it can slip her throat.   
  
His hands disappear entirely and her eyes flash open again, not sure if maybe he’s heard something she hasn’t, someone nearing their position or what. Her worries are cut down when his hands curl behind her knees and lift, folding her in half with ease. She’s pinned now, back to chest, more thoroughly than before and she can’t resist flexing to test his hold. His grip tightens in response, sure to leave bruises behind on her thighs. One arm shifts and curls around her to keep her steady while he reaches down, stopping to deliver a sharp little slap to her core, and then guides his thick, pierced cock to press against her entrance.   
  
She feels like she’s dripping down the length of him, her muscles clenching eagerly, but he just holds her there, chest vibrating with a silent laugh. She reaches up from where her grip had instinctively latched on to his arm and curls her hands around his neck, nails digging into him in retaliation. It’ll leave marks, this she’s sure of, and his hiss is satisfying for the short second before he sinks into her sharply, forcing her open wide around him in one firm, well practiced movement.   
  
There’s a near silent groan from him as he sits hilted inside her, just feeling as her core muscles ripple around him for a long moment. Her body readjusts quickly, opening up to welcome him and she’s reminded for a moment of wondering how the hell he expected to fit all of himself inside of her the first time she’d seen his full length. She’d stared at him, wide eyed, long enough for him to catch it and laugh, his face insufferably smug.   
  
He’s taking too long just enjoying the heat of her for her liking, even if she might enjoy it immensely any other time. They’re out in the dark of night, fucking in the middle of War Games, and he chooses  _ now _ to take his time and soak her in. Her brother is out here somewhere, along with a bunch of Initiates looking to prove themselves.   
  
Fed up with him, she squirms, rolling her hips as much as she can while pinned so firmly to his chest. It seems to do the trick, because the hand he used to guide himself into her claps sharply against the side of her ass, before taking a firm grip on her and putting all that thick muscle to good use.   
  
He drags out of her slowly, savouring the tight squeeze of her before sinking deep with a sharp jerk. He repeats the motion a few times, a growl rising in his chest when her nails drag sharply against his skin, before one of her hands unlatches and comes to clamp over her mouth instead, muffling the mewl that tries to spill from her.   
  
He continues to work, pace picking up until he’s fucking harshly into her, enjoying the tiny noises he forces out into her palm. Her world shrinks down to this, his possessive grip and his large body against her, the pleasure boiling quickly back to the surface as he takes her, his hips colliding against her with a loud slapping into the night air. He’s in total control here, all consuming and melting anything but the feel and presence of him away.   
  
Or so he thinks. He may have a certain control over her, but what it seems he doesn’t realize, is she has a hold on him too. He can’t seem to help himself with her, can’t keep his hands to himself if he sees opportunity. He enjoys sinking into her, opening her body around him, enough that it’s a craving. He seeks her out, picks petty arguments with her so she’ll make him follow her to one of the deserted training rooms, or following her when she leaves to get away from the crowds. She has some small part of him wrapped around her little finger and he doesn’t even realize it. He would surely hate it if he did, and she’s sure once he comes to the realization, he’ll retreat for a while to sooth his pride. But he’ll be back. He always is.   
  
She tips her head back onto his shoulder, eyelids fluttering. The position puts his face in her peripheral. His lips are curled into a silent snarl as he focuses on fucking her loose and open and full of him. She can’t resist clamping her muscles down around him just to see his eyes shut tightly. His brow furrows and she keeps herself from turning her head and pressing her lips to the piercings in his brow, but only just.   
  
She arches in his hold as much as she can, muscles starting to spasm and her entire body shivering in his grip. In response to the rather obvious warning sign, he drops one of his arms and his fingers find the place where he’s sinking into her easily before focusing in on the bundle of exposed nerve above it, index and middle finger working harshly to fling her over the edge.   
  
So she lets him, lets the moan trapped in her chest out into her palm where he can hear. He doesn’t stop like he said he would. Couldn’t now if he wanted too. Instead, he forces himself deep again, feels her fluttering around him, and spills with a bitten off growl.   
  
They don’t move beyond the heaving of their chests. She melts into him, just for a moment, and he takes her weight easily- willingly, the fingers he used to get her off stroking against the lines of tattoos on her lower stomach seemingly unconsciously. She soaks in the gentle touch for as long as he’ll give it.   
  
It’s not long before it registers to him what he’s doing and he rips his hand away to grip her thigh, his other hand following suit so he can set her back on her feet. That he doesn’t just drop her says more than anything else. He holds her hips for a second, letting her get her bearings on quakey legs before he steps around her, away from her.   
  
“Good luck, Stiff. This’ll be over quickly.” He throws snarkily over his shoulder as he leaves, seemingly an afterthought.   
  
She waits until he’s out of ear shot before smiling, “I’m already winning, Eric.”


End file.
